self-directed

I’m new to ‘self directed study,’ it’s a construction I’ve never known. It’s kind of a faustian bargain that resembles another self-paced activity—treading water. The program’s like an immersive plunge in deep, choppy, informational seas. On the other hand, instead of dark, crowded auditorium classes, we’ve been studying, on sunny mornings, out by the pool, where there’s a summer camp like-vibe. When I say we, I mean Chella and I, we’re a two girl study group. I’ve only known her for 13 days but we have a lot in recent-common. She was in my Yale graduation class (last month) but our paths never really crossed at Yale. She’s a tall, lithesome, black girl from Miami Florida. Not the sandy beach Miami, where palm trees sway, bikini clad models strut and flamingo-pink art-deco bars face the ocean. No, she’s from the Liberty City ghetto—and she has stories. She say’s that getting her Yale acceptance was a sea change. People were incredulous, as if aliens had landed or everyone in her high school had won the lottery, There’s a sad but steely resignation in her voice when she says she’s never going back there, Evah. So, it’s 86°f here in Boston, MA, and we’re out studying by the pool. There isn’t a cloud or bird in the sky and the sun looks—well, honestly, we’re not looking at the sun—we’re college graduates—we’re in the shade. I was afraid the pool would be summer-time crowded but we’ve been the only one’s here all week. We plunge into the pool and then read. As Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks finished playing on my Bose Soundbar, Chella professed, “I literally LOVE that song.” “I’ve loved that song since 8th grade,” I agreed. “I don’t think my musical taste will ever be better than it was in 8th grade.” Chella confided. “8th grade’s when everyone’s up on trends,” I said, thinking back. We read for a while. The only thing tainting our near resort-core experience, is the flood of material we must cover. “I want to be jolly,” I declared, to the universe,“I’m holding that today.” “You keep yourself so grounded,” Chella said, “like you refuse to delight in anything!” “That’s not true!” I gasped. “Yes, it is!,“ she updogged, if anything goes wrong, you’re just done.” “NOoo!” I laughed. “Ok, two things, if two things go wrong,” she amended. “That’s fair.” I admitted, “I’m a two chance girl.” “That’s fair,” she agreed, then she added, “I’m going to switch the vibe up.” ‘SIREN by Shygirl’ began banging as we went back to our reading. ‘Self directed study’ has it’s advantages. . . Songs for this: Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks SIREN by Shygirl